


Blackbird

by TheThirdTemptationOfParis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ASiP, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Characters will be added as they appear - Freeform, Falling In Love, First Meetings, God has some dumb rules, HLV, John kind of is, Love is Forbidden, M/M, Mycroft tries to be a good brother, Nightmares, Sherlock is Blind to his feelings, TEH, TGG, THoB, TRF, Tarmac scene rewrite, also He's snarky af, based on a beatles song, more tags will be added, multi-chapter, tsot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-13 21:57:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11194257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdTemptationOfParis/pseuds/TheThirdTemptationOfParis
Summary: Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise. Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these sunken eyes and learn to see. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free. Blackbird, fly.Sherlock is an angel in the Heavenly Host assigned to be John's guardian angel after Afghanistan. Their life soon becomes one of forbidden love, hypocrisy and rebellion.





	1. The Fall of "Lucifer"

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you listen to Chase Holfelder's Major to Minor version of Blackbird by The Beatles.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth, the fowl of the water and air, beasts of the field and everything in between. For Earth, He created guardians known as humans. The humans had the capacity to be perfect, but temptation and sin got the better of them. Eve ate the fruit of the tree and convinced Adam to do the same. Cain killed Abel, and the rest is history and religion.

For heaven, He created angels. Flawless, immaculate beings of perfection. Seraphim to rule under him, nephilim to become guardians of the flawed humans he’d made, and cherubim to rule over the aspects of love. Then, it came to God’s attention that His angels weren’t as perfect as he originally thought. The aspects of love were about to be challenged.

Two angels, Moran and Moriarty, known to Earth as a single being, Lucifer, had fallen in love. Originally what brought the two nephilim together was their disdain for the flawed humans of Earth and how much God seemed to love them. They planned a rebellion, gained as many followers as they could, and went to overthrow God. 

“You know this might very well get the two of us thrown out of the Host, right, love?” Moran said as they stormed the palace that fateful day. Moriarty rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and continued onward.

“I told you,” he said, turning when they reached the steps, grasping Moran’s hand, “There is no way we can fail. We have some of the strongest fighters in the Host on our side, _avatin_ , and he’s not as strong as he once was. He can’t defeat us. Not in the state he’s in.”

The wide golden doors to the palace crashed open, and out came their father, the Lord their God, “That is untrue, my sons, and you know it. If you want to have conversations of overthrowing me, you should know better than to have them on my front steps. And if you were observant you would see that your entire “army” has fled your side.”

Moriarty spread his wings and pulled his sword from the sheath on his back, “What did you say to them? We had their allegiance!”

“Their allegiance to your deviance is nothing compared to your brother’s and sister’s fear of punishment. I set aside those laws to keep this from happening, and you broke those laws. I have no choice but to cast you out of the Host, away from here.”

Moran’s wings bristled as he walked up next to his lover, “If the law is not to love, Father, than you yourself are breaking it. You love those flawed creatures you created so much. They could have been perfect, like us, yet you let them stumble. And you still love them even though they’ve abandoned you.”

“We are the ones who are meant to watch over them,” Moriarty said, thunderous, “You do nothing for them. All you do is continue to give them temptations!”

“They would be able to resist them if you didn’t challenge it in the garden, my son. They wouldn’t be flawed if you didn’t give them the means to sin!” 

“I did what I thought was right! I thought if they were flawed you would destroy them! I thought if they left you behind you would forget about them and turn your attentions back to us! I thought we could change your views!” Moriarty readied himself in a fighting stance, but Moran placed a hand on his shoulder.

“ _Avatin_ , please.”

“If you wanted my attention, you certainly have it now,” said the Lord, “Do you want to tell me why you thought you could change my views?” His eyes were fixed on the intimate position his sons were in, eyes piercing.

“These laws against love are outrageous, Father. Why tell us we can’t love when you yourself can?” Moran said, wrapping his arm around Moriarty’s waist, “Who are you to tell me that what I feel is wrong?”

“I am your Father, a creator of worlds, I have utmost jurisdiction, my word is Law! If I say it will be, then it will be! If I tell you you’re an abomination because of what you feel, it’s the truth! I don’t care if you feel for angel, human, one who looks like you, or one who doesn’t, love is against the laws of the Host, and that’s final!” A great black cloud rolled over the city at His words, and Moriarty leveled his sword again.

“The humans have the choice and ability to love, why don’t we?” Moriarty screamed over the thunder booming from the clouds overhead.

“Because I made you differently! You are not human, you are nephilim, and therefore are in _my_ charge and must follow _my_ rules!”

“Well we reject your rules!” Moran cried, drawing his own sword and standing, ready for battle, next to his lover.

“Then you have no place here!” God shouted. He drew back a hand and hit Moriarty firmly in the chest, knocking him to and through the ground. Moran ran to the side of the hole now in the cobbled streets of the city, looking down to the Earth below. 

“ _Avatin_ , no!” he shouted, watching as his lover fell, wings burning as he went.

He felt his Father’s hand on his shoulder as he turned him onto his back, “And you get to join him,” He spat, indignation in His voice.

“No, Father, please, I’m—” but the last of his words were cut off as he was pushed through the hole, crashing to Earth, wings burning to ashes as he fell.


	2. Enter Captain John Watson

One would say Heaven, or Uriel City, was paradise, even, and maybe especially, to the angels who live there. Sherlock would beg to differ. It’s beautiful, sure, but pure white cobble streets and brilliant golden buildings lost their luster as he grew older. All he did was run errands for his brother, Mycroft, the acting God. It was enough to drive him out of his skull. Lestrade gets to guard London, why can’t he guard a city? It’s not like he has anything better to do.

“My orders are of utmost importance, brother, and you, as a nephilim, have no right to question them.” Mycroft said after the millionth time Sherlock asked why he was only given menial tasks while other angels get larger, more world changing ones.

“So? Lestrade is a nephilim, Martha is a nephilim. They get to guard London, why can’t I?” he argued, fervent in his opinion.

“They’re not you and I didn’t raise them. However, I did raise you, and you do as I say. Besides, I have something coming up for you that I think you’ll deem important.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and bristled his wings, “You’ve been saying that for millennia, Mycroft! When do I actually get to do it, rather than just hearing about it?”

“Soon, brother mine. Soon.”

That was months ago. Sherlock had spent everyday waiting for whatever the “something” was. Then finally, millennia after his “birth,” Mycroft told him what he’d been waiting for.

“This is your charge,” he’d said, handing Sherlock a lengthy scroll.

“My… my charge? You mean after thousands of years I’m actually a guardian? What took so long? Other nephilim have several charges in a lifetime,” Sherlock said, holding the scroll delicately.

“There normally are angels who do have multiple charges, but we had to… handpick yours, of a sort. This human would need to be able to tolerate you for who you are and what may come in the future.”

“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?” Sherlock asked, looking up at his brother.

“There’s always something I’m not telling you, Sherlock.” And with that, Mycroft was gone, leaving Sherlock with the scroll in his hand.

Captain John Hamish Watson, M.D.

He froze. Most charges, if not all, were handed over to their nephilim at birth. But John, John was an adult with a full life already behind him.

He grew up in Surrey, England, not far from London, where he’s currently residing. His father and mother were unhappily married due to the pregnancy and birth of his sister, Harriet. They’d loved each other once, and an attempt to rekindle that was where John came into the picture.

He grew up with parents who hated each other, a drunk for a father, a scared woman for a mother, and a lesbian for a sister. John harbored a deep, fierce love for his sister, and suffered a great many beatings because of it. As soon as he was eighteen, he was out of the house, off to medical school and the army. His father died when he was in Afghanistan and he couldn’t have felt more relief.

In Afghanistan, John more than earned his status of Captain. Being a trained doctor and medic, he was a prime leadership candidate. He excelled… until he was shot. Now he was home, more or less, with a therapist and a miserable bedsit.

Sherlock tucked the scroll away and stretched his wings, flying to Mycroft, “I’m going to him. Immediately. He needs me. Or, someone like me. For guidance.”

Mycroft smirked, “That is what nephilim do, brother. They guide and guard. Just, take care of him. This is your first charge and it wouldn’t do well for you to do poorly.” The smirk had turned into a stern look. Sherlock nodded, turning to leave, “Oh, Sherlock? You’ll be staying with Martha, and Gregory, then name Lestrade has taken, will be your cover. Do hurry. Captain Watson needs you.”

And Sherlock left Uriel City for the first time. 

***

In the sky over a busy city like London, one learns to be careful. Though, it’s not like in a city filled with lights many people are going to be looking up. Sherlock immediately placed the locations of the nephilim in the city. Mycroft hadn’t given him a location for Martha, the pompous arse, but it was easy enough to deduce. He’d remembered Martha from when he was younger, always one for lavishness. Central London it was.

On the doorstep to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock raised a hand to knock on the door, which opened before he could. He was startled when he was pulled inside and wrapped into a hug, “Hello Martha. It’s been quite a while,” he said, pulling back.

Martha smiled up at him, “Indeed. I don’t think I’ve seen you since after your first molt. After that, Mycroft sent me here and I haven’t been able to return to Uriel. Come. Join me.”

He followed her into the first floor flat, one that was filled with small trinkets and looked like what Sherlock would expect a home of a woman of Martha’s supposed age would look like, “Please do refrain from the topic of my first molt, Martha. That was… a trying time, to say the least.”

She laughs at him, a smile on her face, “Oh, but it gets better with age, doesn’t it? Not as messy or terrible. Now, someone told me that you’ve gotten your first charge, is that right?” Martha asks, sitting in a plush armchair.

Sherlock nods, looking around, not quite knowing what to do with his body, “I’m not quite sure what to do. Mycroft never gave me a run down of whatever the protocol for this is. It’s like he just expects me to know what to do.”

“No one knows what to do with their first charge, Sherlock. You just roll with the punches, as they say. Though I do think it’s unusual for a charge to be given over this late in their life. Do you know what Mycroft was thinking in that regard?”

Sherlock shoots her a look as if to say does anyone know what Mycroft is thinking? “He’s acting God, Martha. I don’t think we really have the right to question his decisions. Especially me, because he raised me and I have no right to challenge his orders, as he so loves to tell me. He never tires of hearing the sound of his own voice.”

“So very like Father. Though you wouldn’t really know, He was gone before you could get to know Him.”

“Why did he go away? Do you know?” Sherlock asked, finally sitting down in the other chair in the room.

Martha sighed and looked across the room at him, “You know the story of Moran of Moriarty, everyone does. Many have speculated that it was either that betrayal or the continuous back-turning from the humans that pushed him away. No one can know for sure because he’s been gone for millennia, just a short while after you were born.”

“No one’s heard from him?”

Martha shook her head, “There were rumors a while back that Mycroft was still in contact with him, but he shot that down quickly. Which is why I’m kind of happy to be here rather than in Uriel City. There’s a lot less drama here. Here you know that not everyone has moral, in fact most people don’t have morals. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

Sherlock sat in contemplation for a few moments before speaking again, “Does anyone know what happened to Moran and Moriarty?”

Martha shook her head, “And it would benefit you to not go looking. They’re not the kind you want to be involved with.”

Sherlock concedes on the point and goes back to the matter at hand, “How do I not show who I am to John? I need to keep whatever cover Mycroft has set up for me.”

“You’d have to meet Lestrade for that one, child. I don’t know what he’s set up for you. All I know is that you’re staying here. You’re free to go upstairs and look at your flat, if you like.”

Sherlock nodded and left the downstairs flat, ascending the steps to the second floor. The flat was quaint, and he immediately felt at home. Well, sort of. There was a bit of something missing. Sherlock never really knew loneliness before, but he guessed this was what it was like. If he had to guess, he would say the missing piece was John.


	3. Nightmares and First Meetings

No one told Sherlock how deep the ties between a nephilim and their charge went. He knew the nephilim usually knew everything that did, would, and could happen in a charge’s life, but that didn’t really apply here, seeing as John is thirty-six years old. But he certainly didn’t know about the dreams.

The first time Sherlock entered John’s dream, he was terrified. He had heard of the brutality of human warfare before, but he’d never experienced it. Though he’d never experienced angel warfare, he knew the overview. Swords, blades, fists. Close combat, but humanity…

There were explosions on all sides of him, and the popping of bullets being fired from guns filled his ears. People around him were screaming. Civilians. Women, children, elders, all in the human tongue of Arabic. Sherlock couldn’t tell which side had started this particular battle, but what he did know was that this was John’s memory and that he was right in the middle of it.

Sherlock could see John, clad in army fatigues, on high alert. When his eyes land on Sherlock, fear lights behind them. He doesn’t know why, he thought he was just a spectator, but before he can blink there’s a pop and a shock in his chest, and the dream fades away.

When reality sets in, there’s brief panic. Sherlock pressed a hand to his chest, finding it whole. He knew human weapons couldn’t harm him, but still. The panic in his mind ebbed and he realized that it may have been John’s panic he’d just felt. It was enough to set his teeth on edge. It seemed to Sherlock that there was more to prepare for.

***

From the first moment he saw him, Sherlock knew John was special. There was an ache in his chest at the sight of him in the park, limping, broken, downcast. He knew he had to save him, he just didn’t know how yet. There was a rustle of wings beside him and he turned to see Lestrade, suddenly beside him on the roof, “Your charge?” he asked, nodding to John, stories below them.

Sherlock nodded, “I don’t know what to do, Lestrade. Martha said I’m supposed to meet him, but I don’t know how to go about doing it. He’s so broken, Lestrade. Look at him. The limp is psychosomatic, that much is obvious, but his mind, his heart. How am I supposed to protect a man from himself? It just… doesn’t seem possible. But I have to try.”

“That’s the thing about being a guardian. Sometimes we make mistakes.”

Sherlock huffed, “We’re perfect beings. We can’t make mistakes.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Lestrade replied, “Do you know how many killers have gotten away because of my incompetence? One hundred and fifty-two since I’ve been here. Do you know how that feels?” Sherlock shook his head, “Like hell. But I’ve learned to live with it. As best I can, that is. It’s not an easy realization, but it’s a realization all the same.”

“But Father created us to be perfect. How can we make mistakes?”

“Sherlock, nothing He’s created is perfect. Well, I guess I can’t say that, because Jesus was. But we’re not, Moran and Moriarty made sure of that.”

“And that we’re not allowed to love,” Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

“Well, not exactly. We were never allowed to love, but they definitely solidified it. That’s why the cherubim left, you know? They didn’t agree with the aspects of love and started a rebellion. Dad got angry and tried to toss them all, but they all agreed to leave before he could. They’re scattered across the world, now. There’s one here, actually. Michael. I’ve seen him flitting about. Don’t really know what they’re up to these days.”

“You know Mycroft never explained the aspects of love to me? Not that I particularly care. I don’t think anyone could fall in love with me even if they tried, or me in love with them.” By now, they’d become engrossed in conversation, John had left the park. Sherlock let his shoulders slump. 

Lestrade sighed beside him, “I didn’t expect Mycroft to explain things like that to you. He expects you to be just like him, emotionless. What he doesn’t understand, though, is you have to have some semblance of feeling to be God because He Himself had feelings. But who am I to judge him for his decisions? How about we switch to the cover that’s been so meticulously set up for you?”

Sherlock perked up slightly, “Gladly. Who am I to be, and what am I to do?”

“There’s the Sherlock I know,” Lestrade laughed, “You work with me as a detective. What’s good about that is you’re allowed to do all the crazy deducing things that we nephilim normally do. You won’t be able to get yourself into any trouble that way.”

Sherlock laughed lightly, “I don’t get in trouble. Well, not anymore, anyway. If you’d ask Mycroft, though, he’d probably disagree with you. He’s good at that.”

Lestrade tried not to smile in agreement, “Yes, well, I’m sure he is. Do stay out of trouble, though. Because it’ll be on my head. And the wrath of our brother is not something I’m fond of being on the wrong end of. Give Martha my regards whenever you return to Baker Street.”

 

And with that, Lestrade left Sherlock alone on the roof overlooking the park below him, hoping to see a glimpse of John again, but knowing that he was long gone by now. 

***

He was standing over a man in the dirt. There was blood everywhere and he could feel an opposing calm panic in his body. The voice falling from his lips wasn’t his own, but what he suspected was John’s. They were just nonsense, the words. Attempts to placate the man writhing on the ground. 

There’s two holes. One in the shoulder, one in the thigh. Femoral artery. No matter what John does, or did, in this situation could help this man now. Not where they are. Not with the equipment he has. Sherlock is watching through John’s eyes as a man dies below his hands. 

“Come on, Adams, keep your eyes open, come on. Don’t you dare die on me.” Sherlock watches as John’s hands scrabble to both wounds, trying to keep pressure on them, but even Sherlock can tell that it’s fruitless. There’s not enough time. John didn’t get there fast enough, “Come on, come on, don’t you dare.”

Then, under hands that don’t belong to him, Sherlock feels the life begin to drain from Adams. John’s voice is strained as he lets out a string of expletives. And once all the life and light are gone, John sits back on his heels, hands limp at his sides. 

Reality slams into Sherlock again, and this time, there’s a bone deep ache of what he had to guess was failure. Before he has too much time to think back on it, there was a knock on the door downstairs, which Martha answers. From upstairs, he can hear Martha’s surprised, “Michael?” Sherlock was out the upstairs door and down the stairs in seconds.

“Good morning Martha. Sherlock,” Michael had looked up to where Sherlock had paused on the stairs, “A little birdy told me someone needs help getting into contact with his charge.” His Irish brogue lilts up in amusement. Sherlock just looks at him, never familiarized with cherubim, as they were gone before he was old enough to remember.

“I, um. Yes.” Sherlock stammers, speechless for once in his life. 

“Well, you’re in luck, because I have a plan.”

“How can I trust you?” Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

Michael looks back at him with mischief in his eyes, “You don’t know if you can, but if you want to meet your charge and take care of him, you’re going to have to take that risk, aren’t you? Martha knows I’m not all bad.”

“I’d beg to differ about the rest of your kind, but you’re as trustworthy as they can possibly be. He will be your best chance, Sherlock.”

Sherlock walked down the last couple steps and looked Michael over, still suspicious, “How do you know you can get me to John?”

Michael laughed, “I’ve been on Earth for a couple millennia, Sherlock, and in London for the majority of it. I’ve been around the block a few times. Also, I’ve met John before. I think I have a bit of insight.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes further, suspicion rising more, and Michael laughed, “Please, Sherlock, I’m one of the good guys. You’ll see in the future, I’m sure. Come on.” He turns and walks down the front steps. Sherlock looks to Martha, who nods and points out the door. 

After walking for a few blocks, Sherlock speaks up, “So, where are we going?”

“Russell Square Park. Thought you could’ve figured that out. You were there yesterday, weren’t you?”

Sherlock hummed in agreement, and stayed silent for the rest of the way to the park. It wasn’t that long after that that John entered the park. Michael called out to him, immediately grabbing John’s attention, “Sorry to run into you twice in a row, but this is the guy I told you about yesterday. The one looking for a roommate. Sherlock, this is John Watson, John, this is Sherlock… Holmes.”

John reached out his hand, and Sherlock took it, shaking it, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I’m grateful you’re willing to share with me. I must admit, I haven’t had the best of luck.”

Being this close in proximity to John, Sherlock was able to see everything about him. From what he could remember from the nightmares he’d seen, he could see that John had lost several pounds. He hadn’t been eating. The limp had been weighing heavily on his mind, and feels useless because of it. He has a tremor in his left hand, his dominant one, and he can’t work. It felt awful to him. 

“Glad I could be a bit of luck,” Sherlock said, releasing John’s hand, “I think you’ll be glad to hear that the rent isn’t terribly high, considering the property is in Central London.”

John’s eyes lit up a bit at that, “Oh really? How’d you swing that?”

“The landlady owes me a favor. Shall we?” he asked, sweeping his coat across his chest. John nodded and followed Sherlock out of the park, waving a brief goodbye to Michael. But a few seconds later, he stops. He stops, and laughs. Sherlock turns, puzzled, “What is it?”

John, through the laughter falling from his mouth, “We don’t know a damn thing about each other. How do I know you’re not some psychopath?”

Sherlock felt like he’d been slapped, but only for a moment, “Would Mike really introduce me to you if I was? What kind of man do you think he is?” His voice had a sort of mock hurt on Michael’s behalf. 

The sides of John’s mouth quirked up into what must have been one of his first smiles in ages. Sherlock’s pride soared. If he could do that for the rest of his existence, he’d be happy. He smiled back, and the two of them walked back off toward Baker Street, both feeling that this right here was the beginning of the rest of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Avatin_ is a "term of endearment" in Hanstratic, the language of angels. (One I made up.)


End file.
